


Getting off the High Horse

by lacewingss



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Prompt Fill, Slow Burn, inquisitor is a prick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3538169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacewingss/pseuds/lacewingss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Trevelyan is kind of a dick. He's insufferably proper and selfish, but Varric is determined to bring him down a few notches. He didn't realize while doing so he would develop feelings for the jerk, though. </p><p>Kmeme fill!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting off the High Horse

The first time Varric met the Inquisitor he had to choke back his groan until it passed for a cough. From his very first words the young man made it clear he had a stick rammed so far up his ass that it was a wonder he could walk at all. Entitled expression, condescending tone; the man had it all. Some third son of a noble house in the Free Marches, he was told. _This one is going to be no fun at all,_ he thought grimly as he watched the man follow behind Cassandra as if she was his personal body guard. 

In only the few short hours it took to reach and close the weird tear in the mountains Varric realized how right he was. 

\--

After reaching Haven and settling in Cassandra had given Varric the unpleasant task of making sure Gabriel actually knew how to use the bow strapped to his back. Judging by the way he held it, Varric had his doubts. The so called Herald of Andraste nearly dropped the thing when he first attempted to notch an arrow. 

“You're sure you know what you're doing Pretty Boy?” The nickname was fitting. With his carefully ruffled dark hair and icy blue eyes he looked every bit the noble born son he was. Even his posture exuded the authority he had been raised with. He stood tall and held his head high, gracefully catching the long bow before it hit the ground when he fumbled it. 

“I've shot a bow plenty of times before. Now kindly step back.” His was a voice that was used to getting what it wanted. Biting back a comment, Varric did as was demanded and took up a position a few feet away. _He's gonna end up putting someone's eye out with that and somehow I'm going to be blamed for it._

Varric's assumption wasn't far off. Gabriel not only missed the target set up entirely but sent an arrow soaring straight into a group of training soldiers. They scattered, rushing off in all directions in case more run away arrows started to bombard them. There was shouting aimed in their direction, and Varric heard the none too dulcet tones of Commander Cullen warning him to not maim his recruits. 

His hand raised to his temple and Varric shook his head. He had his work cut out for him. “Yeah, you may have shot a bow before, but have you ever hit anything?”

The other man turned to glare at him, distaste obvious on his face. “This bow was obviously improperly balanced. Take it back to the armory and have them fix it.” He took a few quick steps towards Varric and pushed the bow out in front of him. It took Varric a moment of looking at the weapon and back at the other man to realize he wanted _him_ to take it. _You've got to be kidding me._

He raised his hands up and retreated a step. The man needed to learn he wasn't here to boss others around just because that's what he was used to. When he spoke his tone was not unkind; he truly thought Gabriel just needed a push in the more...polite direction. “Listen, Gabe, I'm not here to-”

“Gabriel.” 

“Right. _Gabriel._ ” Now Varric was getting annoyed. How self-important did he think he was that he couldn't even let a nickname slide? “You're not in your fancy mansion anymore living off your parent's money. You want that bow to get to the armory, you take it there yourself. That's what your legs are for. You know, those things attached to your body that you use to run – oh wait, I forgot. You don't run.” 

Varric was ready for the scathing remark Gabriel was no doubt about to spit out, but instead received only a dagger sharp stare. Gabriel turned on his heel, fancy cloak fanning out behind him as he stalked off towards the armory alone. Varric shook his head, imagining the scene that would play out when the poor smithy told Gabriel that there was nothing wrong with the bow. 

\--

Seasons changed, but Gabriel didn't. Tedious, tiresome training sessions had proven to Varric that the man had no talent whatsoever for the bow, or any other weapon. He was either too worried that his cloak could get dirty or the wind would mess his hair that his focus was lost. Andraste knew how he survived the attack on Haven. He probably only suggested to go to the trebuchet alone so he could sneak away when no one was looking. Bad luck for him, it seemed. 

Pretty boy was worse even than Sebastian. At least choir boy was a good person under all his pontification and holier than thou attitude. The Inquisitor, on the other hand...well, arguments could be made either way. 

He once caught Gabriel trying to order one of the elves in Skyhold to fetch him a new cloak because his current one was not quite to his style preferences or some such bullshit. He hadn't even taken a moment to notice the bow strapped to the girl's back, or the fact she was clad in hunting leathers and not servant attire. He had just assumed, since she was an elf, that he had the right to order her around. Though, Varric thought, he might had done it even if she wasn't an elf. Anyone Gabriel didn't know personally was subject to hearing his whims and demands.

When Varric had confronted him about it, he had simply stated that is was her job to do what the Inquisitor asked. It was no different than Varric writing his books or whatever it was he did, or Bull ordering his Chargers into battle. He was just giving the girl something to do. Even after Varric pointed out that the elf was actually a member of the hunting parties, Gabriel refused to apologize or change his stance. It was not the last time Varric wondered if cuffing the Inquisitor on the side of the head would get him in trouble. 

He kept a close eye on Gabriel after that. He was making sure the kid didn't screw up and lose the Inquisition's support, of course. 

What he saw infuriated him only half the time. The other half it left him pitying the Inquisitor. Poor guy probably never had many friends. He didn't know how to treat people as if they were _people_. Aloof and somewhat reclusive, most of the time when he spoke to others it came off as rude. His attitude had earned him a less than sterling reputation among the Inquisition, and Varric couldn't disagree with it. 

He liked to think he was good at reading people. Figuring out what made them tick, what drove them to do what they did. The more he watched Gabriel the more he felt for the man. He was trying too hard. Being the Inquisitor was a lot to juggle: there were many people whose respect he needed, along with mundane matters that needed to be attended to. Gabriel must have thought being the proper, no nonsense leader was the best route to take, as it was likely the only one he knew. 

Through minefield like conversations he learned Gabriel had spent his life constantly trying to live up to his brothers, to make himself into someone who meant something. Varric could sympathize. He started to spend more time with Gabriel, instead of watching from the sidelines. Every opportunity he got to poke fun at the Inquisitor he took. The man needed it. Eventually a tenuous friendship emerged – the only one that Gabriel appeared to have. 

\--

“I need to talk to you.” Varric pushed open the door to the Inquisitor’s quarters, knowing full well he would be inside, alone. 

“Go away Varric. I am not in the mood to listen to your prattle.” Gabriel sounded tired, and indeed looked it. Sprawled out on his extravagant bed, the skin visible on his arms was coated in bruises and cuts. He looked worse than Varric had ever seen him, though that wasn't saying much. Gabe didn't usually get into a fight if he could send others to do it for him. 

“Heh. Lucky for you I'm not going to prattle then.” He strolled over to the bed and took a seat on the edge, eying Gabriel. It was a wonder the man still lived. To travel physically into the fade and emerge in one piece...it was a miracle. Miracles seemed to follow Pretty Boy around like a stray dog, though, so it shouldn't have been too much of a surprise. 

“Hawke said it was your say that left Stroud in the Fade. I know you wanted the Warden's support, so why'd you do? Why leave the Warden to die?”

A groan sounded from somewhere deep within the pillows. Obviously Gabriel was tired of this question. “My decision making process is none of your business and I highly doubt you would understand even if I made the attempt to tell you.” 

“You wound me. I understand more than you think.” Though his tone was playful, Varric was determined to get an answer. It just didn't add up – by all rights Gabriel should have left Hawke, not Stroud. He pushed himself farther onto the bed, his legs dangling above the cold floor. 

“Fine,” Gabriel said, moving into a sitting position next to Varric. It was hard not to notice the wince of pain on his face as he sat up. “Stroud was just a Warden. Hawke was your friend. Despite what you might think of me I am not so cold hearted as to deprive you of your friend. In fact, if anyone in this horrid place took the time to-” 

Varric didn't hear much of what Gabriel said next. His mind was reeling with what had been confessed. Gabriel had chosen to save Hawke because of him. He had made a choice that didn't solely benefit himself, and that would make _someone else happy._

“Gabe.” Varric tried to cut the other man off, as he now had something he needed to say. He might have known it before, but until this moment it was easy to ignore due to the constant reminders that Gabriel was a selfish prick. But now there was no denying it; all that time spent alone with the Inquisitor, all the jokes at his expense – Varric had developed feelings for the jerk. 

“Do not interrupt me, I am in the middle of something here.” A hand was waved in front of his face in attempt to stop him, and Varric felt the urge to slap it aside. 

“Would you shut your mouth for one minute, Pretty Boy?”

“I told you not to call-” Gabriel didn't have time to finish his words as at that moment Varric knew the only way to quiet the man was to do something drastic. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Gabriel's, letting them linger a moment before the other man inevitably pulled back.

“I-that... _ahem._ ” Gabriel cleared his throat, stunned. A blush was starting to form on his cheeks, causing his fair skin to redden as he sat stock still.

Varric sat back and chuckled. So far, so good. “Well now I know how to make you listen.”

“That...that was inappropriate. You can't just go around kissing me without, ah...without asking permission.” Pretty boy was nervous. His hold on the situation was slipping, and Varric could see it in his near panicked expression. Even though he enjoyed see the Inquisitor lose his usual composure, he didn't want to anger the man.

“Alright, Inquisitor. How about it, then? Let me kiss some sense into you.”

Gabriel looked conflicted. There was something going on behind those eyes of his, gears turning and feelings being sorted. Varric guessed that he had not been kissed many times before in his life, and especially not by dwarven men. _Let him take his time,_ he thought. _I'm not going anywhere._

“Cat got your tongue?” He prompted after a few minutes had passed in silence.

“No!” His voice was loud in the open room. Gabriel glanced over to Varric finally, seeming to steel himself for what he was about to say. “I...want you to kiss me again. But.” He paused to take a breath, and when he continued it was in a rush of words. “Look, I know I'm not the most liked person in Skyhold. I'm not an idiot, despite the rumors I've heard. I am under no illusion that the people admire or even _like_ me; that's perfectly fine. I don't need them. I don't need you either, if you're just going to... to use me for whatever new filth writing you need ideas for.” 

The expression on his face nearly killed Varric. Gabriel really didn't know much about people at all. “Ah, geeze, Gabe.” He slid on the silk sheets closer to the other man, and placed his hand on his shoulder. Gabriel flinched at the contact. _Andraste's tits, poor guy probably hasn't felt another person this close to him in ages._

“At least you know you're a prick. Knowing's half the battle.”

His comment elicited a small laugh from Gabriel, who hadn't moved away. He was loosening up, finally. The weak smile was a defeated one, sure, but it was progress. He did say that he wanted to be kissed again, too, and Varric was not someone who needed to be told twice. 

He used the arm still resting on Gabriel's shoulder to pull him close, and was surprised when there was no resistance. The other man simply allowed himself to be drawn into Varric's embrace, even going so far as turning his face so their eyes locked. The icy blue of Gabriel's eyes still held the same glint of superiority that Varric despised, but beyond it was something softer that, seen as this distance, was irresistible. Closing the distance between them, Varric pressed his lips once again to Gabriel. This time he did not pull back but further deepened the kiss, and Varric soon felt a hand rise to wrap around his midsection. 

Gabriel tasted of wine and spice – slightly bitter and burning. Varric chuckled as he continued to keep his lips locked; the taste suited the Inquisitor well. 

His laughter was a mistake, though. Gabriel once again pulled away and there was now a slight hint of fear in his voice when he spoke. “Is something funny? I hardly think this is the time to be laughing.”

“Calm down. No one's laughing at you.” Varric reassured him with another kiss, this time adding the passion he felt building up inside him. It must have worked, as Gabriel returned it two fold. Soon they were entwined atop to bed sheets, Gabriel's long limbs locked around Varric's middle as he moved his body in time with their deep kisses. 

Varric couldn't help but run his fingers through Gabriel's thick hair, messing up the perfectly styled look until it was a mess of tangles held in his hand. He had wanted to do that for ages. Now Gabe looked even better – less rigid, and more real. The man didn't care that his hair was now a mess, which was sign he was truly lost in the moment.

His legs pulled Varric in closer at the same time his hands explored the hair on Varric's chest. He felt a slight tug as Gabriel pulled on it and he moaned into the Inquisitor’s lips. The boy was doing all the right things. 

It didn't take long for Varric to feel the pressure of Gabriel's erection pressed into him. Pretty Boy was just as into this as he was, it seemed. He took it as a cue to move his hand from his hair down to the loose leather trousers Gabriel was wearing, and to start rubbing the stiffness there. 

Gabriel groaned in pleasure, but still pulled away slightly. His eyes were heavily lidded, and a flush was present on his skin. “This is wrong. We shouldn't.”

“Oh get off your high horse,” Varric mumbled into the flesh of Gabriel's neck as he continued to press a line of kisses down towards his collar bone.

For the first time, Gabriel listened to Varric.


End file.
